


In Our Undershirts

by aftershocks



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Ignoring ST: Beyond, M/M, Pining, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness, Reckless Behavior, Risk-Taking Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 16:25:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14429550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aftershocks/pseuds/aftershocks
Summary: Kirk's pretty fucked up after the whole deal with Kahn.    Everyone is.  But it's fine, because here on the Enterprise we play chess and take risks instead of talking about our damn feelings.





	In Our Undershirts

After his death and resurrection, Kirk is more reckless. He has seen the other side and it is peaceful; something to be avoided, certainly, but not something to be feared. He spends a lot of time in sick bay, McCoy harping on about self-endangerment, and even more time on away missions, getting shot at.  
He’s so preoccupied with chasing his adrenaline rush that he doesn’t notice how distant Spock has gotten until Bones mentions it after a trip down to a pre-warp, M-class planet the ends with a poisoned spear embedded three inches into Jim’s shoulder. He’s rushed to sickbay, where McCoy runs a tricorder over him, yanks the spear out, and then freezes.  
“Fuck!” Kirk grabs for his shoulder and stares the doctor down. “What? What is it, Bones, am I dying?”  
“Don’t be so dramatic. I just keep expecting Spock to start lecturing you. It’s kind of spooky that he’s never here anymore.”  
“You thought it was spooky when he was here,” Jim points out. “Can we focus on the issue at hand?”  
McCoy ignores him. “The thing is, now I have to treat you _and_ lecture you, and it’s a pain in the ass. A man can only do so much at once. It’s your own fault for dying.” He seems satisfied with this chastisement; he picks up a hypospray and a dermal regenerator and returns to his work. Jim stares at him.  
“Hang on, how is this—ow, Jesus—how is this _my_ fault?”  
Bones rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”  
“Noticed _what_ , Bones? That my First Officer no longer feels the need to hover over me every second? Believe it or not, I’m competent enough to do some things on my own.”  
McCoy presses the hypospray to his neck and it’s like fire racing through his veins until the pain medication kicks in. “He’s been avoiding you.”  
“Don’t be stupid, he’s a Vulcan. Avoiding me would be illogical.”  
“And yet…”  
“You’re imagining things.”

Only McCoy isn’t imagining things. Jim starts to notice, now that he’s paying attention, that Spock is avoiding him in the mess hall, in the rec room, even in the ready room. It’s like he’s allergic to him. It’s subtle, of course; everything Spock does is. He still speaks to Jim, though he uses his title more often, and he still shows up for their weekly game of three-dimensional chess. If the mid-game banter feels forced, it’s because it always has. Spock is not one for trash talking.  
“So,” says Jim one Wednesday night, squinting at the board before him and weighing the benefits of sacrificing a rook, “You and Nyota seem to be getting along better lately.”  
Spock raises an eyebrow. “You have not been present for our personal interactions.”  
“Ah. Well. I appreciate that you’ve been civil on the bridge, at least.”  
Jim moves the rook. Spock does not take it, opting instead to move his queen to a safer position.  
“Nyota and I are adults. We are more than capable of separating our personal and professional lives.”  
Jim has to fight his laughter back. “She broke up with you on the bridge. And then punched you, if I remember correctly.” He moves a knight up a level. “Check.”  
“Those were… unusual circumstances. Check.”  
Jim’s been so preoccupied trying to get Spock to blush that he hasn’t noticed the bishop advancing on his king. He frowns at the board and completes the next few moves silently, speaking only when Spock has backed him into a corner and there’s no point concentrating.  
“I never understood that. Why she was so angry, I mean. You weren’t the one who died. She didn’t even come visit me in the hospital; much less lecture me about risky behavior.”  
Spock holds his gaze while he moves his bishop into place. “She was tired of watching me sustain injuries for you. Checkmate.”  
Jim’s mouth falls open.

“He’s _angry_ at me.”  
McCoy puts his head down on his desk with a groan. It’s 2am and they’ve been in sick bay for hours, analyzing Spock’s comment. Actually, Jim’s done most of the analyzation, an endless stream of theories and panic.  
“I mean, I know he can’t logically _be_ angry, but apparently Uhura dumped him because of me—”  
“That’s not what—”  
“But it doesn’t make sense! Last time he was angry, he practically choked me to death! Plus, the other Spock has this, this…” he gestures vaguely, “this kind of _warmth_ for me.” He turns and stares at Bones, wide-eyed. “Holy shit, you don’t think I fucked up the timeline, do you? By pissing him off? Shit!”  
McCoy waits a minute, while Kirk’s heart tries to escape his chest, to respond. “The time line’s already messed up, remember? Maybe he’s supposed to hate you now.”  
“ _Bones_ ,” Jim wails.  
McCoy stands and pushes him down into the chair on the other side of the desk. “He doesn’t hate you, Jim. God, you two are idiots, I swear… look, I’m sure he feels awkward about your death, and about causing a scene on the bridge the day after you got back from being dead, and frankly I think he’s afraid that he’ll end up tackling you again if he tries to talk to you about what an irresponsible asshole you’ve been lately.”  
“I haven’t been an asshole!”  
McCoy throws his hands up. “Fine. I quit. I’ll be sure to give a nice eulogy at your funeral. At this rate, we should probably start making arrangements.”

Jim works under his happy delusion that he’s doing just fine until he wakes up in a cave, foggy-headed and aching all over, two weeks later. He, Spock, and three junior officers are on the surface of a newly-discovered M-class planet. He remembers lush forests and a rustling in the bushes, but after that…  
“Captain.”  
Kirk snaps his head towards the voice. A wave of nausea washes over him. “Spock?”  
Spock emerges from the shadows. The cave is small and cool, lit by the fire beside which Kirk lies. The lines in Spock’s face are deepened by the flickering light. Green blood pools at the corner of his lip. Jim struggles to sit up.  
“The others?”  
“Dead.” Spock’s voice is cold. Jim flinches. The oldest ensign was only twenty-three; the youngest nineteen. Their deaths will ache in his chest for weeks. Spock continues, “We were ambushed by Romulans. You engaged one of the men in close combat and were knocked unconscious. We have lost contact with the ship; I suspect that they have a cloaked ship in orbit that is jamming our signals.”  
“Christ.”  
“Indeed.”  
Jim stares into the fire. He starts shaking, and when he can’t stop it them any longer, lets the tears fall. His face is dry again when, sometime later, Spock presses a bottle of water into his hand.  
“Drink.”  
Jim takes it but does not drink. “This is what McCoy meant.”  
Spock squats down beside him. “I do not follow. You must drink.”  
Jim untwists the cap and takes a small sip of water; Spock prods him and he takes another. “Bones said I’m being a reckless asshole.”  
“Ah.”  
Jim glances at him. “You agree.”  
“I would not use that phrasing.” Jim offers Spock the water bottle. He takes a deep swig before passing it back. “You have been behaving in an illogical manner since the incident with Khan. For a time, I suspected it might be a part of your healing process, but lately—”  
Jim stops listening. The cave is too small and too damp, and while his head has cleared, he can feel several bruises beginning to swell on his arms and torso. It’s suddenly too much, the discomfort and the guilt and the _lecture_ , Christ, as if he doesn’t feel bad enough already.  
“ _I’ve_ been behaving illogically? _Me?_ ” Spock, cut off mid-sanctimonious-speech, raises an eyebrow. “Listen to me, Spock. You’re insane. And you’re driving me insane. I wake up in a hospital and Bones tells me I was dead, but it’s fine, because my idiot First Officer decided to go berserk on my murderer and, after being stopped just short of killing him, took him into custody. So woohoo, it’s all good, only my First Officer is nowhere to be found. I figure, okay, he’s freaked out. He’s meditating, whatever. But I come back to my ship and my crew and it’s not any better. You’ve been avoiding me, don’t pretend you haven’t. Which I can deal with, I can, but apparently you’re avoiding me because I caused your break-up? I mean, I know you and Uhura weren’t all sunshine and roses before, I know you had issues, but shit, you said explicitly that her issue was that you were risking your life _for me_.”  
Spock looks like he might speak; Jim presses a finger to his mouth. “Shut up, I’m not done. I decide to deny this, because what the hell else am I supposed to do, right? I generally prefer to think I don’t put my crew in unnecessarily risky situations.” He looks around the cave and lets out a broken little laugh. “Turns out I was wrong about that.”  
Spock leans away. “Captain…”  
Jim’s voice is very soft when he says, “I killed them. It’s my fault.”  
“Yes.”  
Jim cannot chastise him. He cannot even look at him.  
“Uhura was angry because she is more controlled than the rest of us. Those ensigns behaved much as I do—they rushed into battle because you asked them to, with no thought for their own life. That is the effect you have on others.”  
Jim slams his hand against the cave floor. “That’s not what I want!”  
“Perhaps not. But it is the truth of your life. You are a born leader, and your men would follow you to death. Uhura would, too, but she would do so out of an understanding of your tactical abilities and great compassion for the many. She could not understand that I was willing to take risks that did not follow logically from these reasons.”  
Jim risks a glace up. Spock is as calm as ever, his demeanor unbroken, but in the light of the fire Jim thinks he can see the beginnings of a frown in the creases between the Vulcan’s eyebrows. “I don’t understand.”  
“I did not go after Kahn because I knew that he wished to destroy the people of earth. The thought did not cross my mind.”  
“Then why?”  
Spock does that thing again, like he did over the chess board, holds Jim’s gaze until the Captain’s heart flutters and he remembers frustrated nights alone in his bunk and the warmth of Spock’s presence as darkness closed in around the edges of the world. Jim reaches for him without really thinking, but pauses at the look of pain that flickers across Spock’s face.  
“Spock?”  
“He killed you. I watched you die.”  
“Yeah, and then you chased him down so that no one else would die.”  
“No.”  
Jim stares. “I’m not sure I…”  
“I allowed my emotions to get the better of me.” Spock looks away, to the floor. “I sought revenge.”  
Jim’s throat tightens. Oh. _Oh_. Maybe it’s the blow to the head talking, or months of hope, or maybe it’s the dark cave and the way Spock is sitting too close, but this feels like a confession of more than one moment.  
“What emotions, Spock?”  
Spock stands abruptly and moves into the shadows, his back to Jim. “I do not wish to discuss it, Captain.”  
Jim stands, too, and follows him into the dark corner. After the light of the fire, he cannot see well, and spots are dancing before his eyes when he says, so close to Spock’s ear that he can feel the heat radiating off the other man, “There are other ways to express your feelings, Mr. Spock.”  
Spock turns; Jim still cannot see well, but he can feel breath on his face. “How would you have me express my emotions, Captain?”  
Jim leans in and is surprised to find Spock’s lips, his tongue, his teeth, all of it as urgent as his own sloppy kiss, and then Spock’s fingers are on his and his mind stops working. Spock pulls away first, at least with his lips; his hand is still dancing over Kirk’s, and that is more charged than the human kiss.  
“Spock.” Kirk’s voice is broken.  
Spock moves in closer and whispers in Kirk’s ear, his lips brushing the soft skin, “I have wanted this for a very long time.”  
That’s all the permission Jim needs to kiss him again. He is gentler this time; he keeps the kiss chaste until Spock whines at the back of his throat. Jim pushes him back, stumbling until Spock’s back hits the wall of the cave, and works a hand up under his shirt.  
Spock’s chest is solid and warm, cut with smooth muscles, and this is better than Jim imagined all those nights. Jim wants to suck him, to fuck him, to feel Spock’s fingers digging into his skin and bruising because Vulcans are stronger than humans, wants… oh God, he wants, he wants, he wants.  
“Yes,” Spock says, and it is then that Jim remembers that Vulcans are touch telepaths.  
“What do you want?” He laces his fingers with Spock’s, a kiss and an invitation to explore, and Spock groans.  
“I want you to—I want you on your knees.”  
Jim sees the image in a flash, Spock fucking his mouth, and whimpers. Spock kisses him and gives him a little push; he drops to his knees and undoes Spock’s trousers and pulls them down with his underwear in one fluid movement, and then freezes because Spock’s cock is long and hard and flushed so green it’s almost black and it is beautiful.  
“ _Jim_.” Spock’s voice breaks.  
He runs his tongue along the head and over the glans, savoring the sharp tang of pre-cum. He means to tease, but already Spock has knotted his fingers in Jim’s hair and his legs are shaking. Jim gives one last lick before taking Spock into his mouth.  
He’s allowed to suck for a minute before Spock begins to move his hips, and Jim has to be still to avoid gagging. As it is, Spock’s cock brushes the back of his throat every few thrusts and it’s too much, but in the best way, and his eyes are watering.  
Jim grasps Spock’s hip with one hand. The other wanders up his stomach, along the muscles that tighten with even the smallest movement of Spock’s hips. He is close. Either because he senses this himself or because he feels the impulse from Jim, Spock releases his Captain’s hair, pushes him off of his cock, and pulls him to his feet.  
“Spock.” He strains forward to kiss him, gets close enough to brush his lips up against Spock’s nose before Spock catches him under the chin with a hard grasp.  
“No.”  
“But—”  
Spock silences him again, this time with a long finger pressed against his lips and kisses down his neck turning to nips. Spock’s fingers slide down from his chin and dig into the pulse beating hard in his neck.  
“What, Jim?”  
Jim’s voice catches in his throat and he swears he can feel Spock smirk against his skin. At a loss for words, he resorts to grinding down on the thigh pressed between his legs; the friction isn’t nearly enough, and the frustration forces another groan from his lips. Spock straightens up and watches for a moment, his eyes wide with interest and clouded with lust, before he slides his hand from Jim’s throat to the collar of his shirt and pulls him in for a quick kiss.  
“What?” The word is damp against Kirk’s lips. His tongue flickers out to catch it, but already Spock’s mouth is gone.  
“No lube,” he says. Spock is silent and still. “Want—I want your fingers inside me, twisting me open, teasing me, and then I want your cock, but there’s no fucking lube—” He tries for a kiss again but still Spock leans away. “Spock.”  
Spock makes a grab for Jim’s hand and pulls it to his mouth and Jim is pretty sure this is the most turned on he’s ever been, Christ, Spock sucking on his fingers like they’re candy, and he’s so distracted he doesn’t notice what Spock’s doing with his own hands until he’s already got Jim’s fly undone and his long fingers wrapped around his cock and is working it with short, fast strokes. He pulls his hand from Spock’s mouth so he can use it to brace himself against the wall of the cave.  
“You want me to fuck you.” Spock’s voice is detached, methodical, but the edges are fraying into desperation. Jim’s hips snap forward.  
“Yes.”  
“Hard.” Spock slides his thumb over the head of Jim’s cock.  
“Yes.” His voice cracks.  
“That can be arranged.”  
An image crashes into Jim’s mind. He is pressed against the bed in his quarters, Spock behind him, screwing him, his face and chest flushed and his head thrown back…  
“’m close,” he mumbles. Spock’s breathing is as ragged as his own.  
“Captain.”  
And then Jim’s over the edge, his orgasm shaking through him and his cum splashing onto his shirt and Spock’s. Spock’s hand falls away; he strokes himself through it, biting back a whine when the last of the aftershocks leaves him oversensitive, then reaches out to grasp Spock’s dick. His first officer leans in for a kiss. He tangles the hand he’s been holding himself up with in Spock’s hair and presses closer, works his hand up and down Spock’s shaft faster. The kiss grows sloppier. Spock is losing his concentration. Jim gives his hair a gentle tug, bares his neck, and then nuzzles close to bite at the indentation where Spock’s throat and jaw meet.  
Spock comes with a shout.  
Trembling, they lean against each other to catch their breath. It is Spock who finally speaks.  
“I would suggest that we remove our uniform shirts before we return to the ship. It will be much easier to fabricate a plausible explanation for why we are in our undershirts than it will be to explain why we are covered in semen.”  
“Very romantic, Spock.” Kirk mutters into the Vulcan’s chest.  
Spock disentangles his arms, grasps Jim by the shoulders, and pushes him away so that he can look into his eyes. Jim pouts.  
“T’hy’la,” he says, and Jim remembers from a far-away Starfleet linguistics class that this means ‘beloved’, “Love is not the same as romance.” Then he pulls Jim into the circle of his arms again, and they sink to the cave floor several minutes later and fall into a drowsy tangle of limbs, and right before he falls asleep, Jim is aware for the first time of the warm staccato rhythm of Spock’s heart.


End file.
